Even metaphors get tired
when they start meaning exactly what they say.
No veils. No cleverness.
Just weight.
I used to write in symbols,
now everything sounds like a flat line
dressed in rhythm.
Not dead,
just uninterested in pretending.
There's no poetry in routine.
No metaphor for fading.
It just does.
Somewhere, a line I never said
keeps repeating itself in silence.
And that's the only echo left.
I stopped looking for shape in the noise.
It no longer bends for me.
Even the static feels deliberate now.
I still write,
but not for anyone.
Not even for myself.
Just to see
if the page will flinch.